Louis's birthday comes in a few days--on August fourth--and we're planning a little surprise-party for him. We're going over there early in the morning,--Dave, Carol, the Imp, and I,--and just casually ask him to walk across the fields to the old boat-house with us. When we get there we're going to suggest to him that he take us out in the launch for a while. And when we get back we're going to produce a big spread that we'll have previously hidden in the boat-house, and have a regular feast on the platform. In the middle of it all we're going to present Louis with a gold watch-fob that we all chipped in for, and Monsieur is going to give him the most beautiful watch. Monsieur, of course, is to be a member of this party. The Imp asked him, and he seemed delighted with the idea. Under ordinary circumstances, I would consider it the greatest lark, but as things are, it seems as if I could hardly endure it--to sit there all day and look at Louis and think what he's soon going to learn from Monsieur. August 4, 1914. The worst has happened, the _very_ worst! It makes me sick beyond words to read what I last wrote here--about having a surprise-party, a _picnic_! It was a surprise-party right enough, but the surprise was very much on our side, after all. We all started over for Louis's this morning, just as we'd planned. We'd been up at six o'clock, carrying the "feed" (as the Imp calls it) down to the boat-house, and everything was quite ready. At the last minute Dave couldn't go over with us, because Father had some urgent errand he wanted him to attend to in Bridgeton, but he promised to join us later. I confess that we weren't any of us as hilarious over this party as we'd ordinarily be, for we all feel a lot depressed about this thing. But we hadn't a suspicion of what was ahead of us. We'd hoped to see Monsieur or Louis around outside, but no one was anywhere in sight. So we knocked at the front door, and Louis came and opened it. In all my life I'll never forget how that poor fellow looked. He was _stricken_! I can't think of any other word that expresses it so well. He didn't seem surprised to see us, but instead of inviting us inside, said: "Come out on the Green and sit on our old bench for a few minutes, will you? I've something to tell you." We followed him in dead silence, and we felt that something awful, must have happened. "Have you seen the morning papers?" Louis asked, when we were seated. "No," I said. "What's the matter?" "_France has declared war!_" he answered. Somehow he didn't need to say another word. We knew the whole thing. It had come at last. There wasn't one of us who could think of a word to say, not even the Imp, though she's usually quick enough with a reply. But this time she seemed struck dumb. After we'd all sat there for what seemed like six months, Louis said: